I Love You, Sensei
by pammazola
Summary: Commoner Haruhi Fujioka is the well-known, well-liked honors student and the newest addition to the Ouran Host Club. Everyone is utterly convinced that she is an exceptionally bright and intelligent boy. Well, that is, everyone except her handsome, young history teacher. Kyouya must constantly remind himself WHY he shouldn't leap across his desk to kiss her senseless. M for Lime.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club.**

**~oOo~**

_**I Love You, Sensei**_

**~oOo~**

_Thirty-five minutes._

For some reason that was practically an entire lifetime. She never knew that the arms of a clock moved so slowly, almost teasingly. Why did it always seem this way? She did not even care for history class, really. Previous years recorded on her transcript showed she passed the subject flawlessly, but Haruhi studied more out of obligation than genuine interest. It was not that she found history unimportant, just not as significant for her own future. Well, until she came to Ouran. As a matter of fact, she could not quite say that little has changed in her transition from middle to high school. The first and foremost being that in all of the chaos and disorganization on Day 1 of classes, somehow, _someone_ had made the assumption that just because she was not wearing a girl's uniform – or maybe because there was an obvious lacking in the chest area – it was okay to address her as a boy. _Really_, what kind of idiot would be blind to the fact that her slim stature was considerably smaller than that of any of the male gender, even a few of the females'? Though without the development of breasts, her hips held a slight curve, a _very promising_ slight curve at that; yet, Tamaki Suoh was completely oblivious to all of this. He dubbed her a member of the Host Club, a _boy's_ organization to entertain the female students. With an $80,000 debt hanging over her head, she was forced to comply.

Haruhi winced, thinking about Tamaki. Surely he was sulking in a corner somewhere, berating himself while tending to his mushrooms. Nearly six months have passed since she began working as a host. The blonde-haired French boy learned soon enough her true identity, and despite himself, fell utterly in love with her. He finally succeeded in confessing just that morning, practically having to hunt her down like a bloodhound by searching almost every room in the academy. She wasn't in the music rooms, or the libraries, or the gymnasium… Tamaki even barged in on several zero-period classes, swiftly checking the attendance for the familiar brown-eyed girl. It wasn't until he reached the history wing of Building 11 did he stumble upon her in deep conversation with Kyouya Ootori.

The encounter had gone something like this:

Tamaki slammed the door open entirely unannounced, without waiting for the teacher to properly address him. His violet eyes locked with those of an astonished Haruhi, who was sitting innocently in a lone chair opposite the teacher's desk. She blinked, obviously not expecting him to have appeared in such a disheveled fashion. Indeed, the usually princely host looked quite the mess with uncombed blonde hair and a hastily done tie. What was most unsettling was the crazed flashing in his eyes. Now that she was just within arms' reach, he suddenly forgot what he was supposed to say.

Haruhi spoke first:

"Senpai, are you okay? What are you doing here?"

Her tone was soft and sincere. He took this as much needed encouragement. Squaring his shoulders and standing to his full height, he began his spiel, at least, what he could remember of it. "Haruhi, my feelings for you extend beyond that of a father. You know what I mean. I'm sorry, but I can no longer maintain a role of which I am unhappy with. It might be difficult for you to understand that I will no longer call you my daughter. It would be totally inappropriate. In fact, I feel like a horrible person, putting you in such a confusing situation. I have led you to believe one thing only to prove it false. Well, now I am trying to make things right again. Which is why, my dear Haruhi, I will completely understand if you admit that you are in love with me. It is _not_ your fault, nor my intention to have led you on like this. I will; however, accept full responsibility. My amazing good-looks and sweet charm will belong to you if that is your wish." He finished with a flourish of his hand, bowing to her deeply. Haruhi had never seen him so serious before, and it was rather endearing, she would reflect later on.

But right then all she could think was of how embarrassing he was to say all of that in front of Ootori-sensei!

The raven-haired history instructor of class A1 calmly accepted the sudden (and unwanted) intrusion of Suoh, whom he had grown accustomed to his outbursts and odd antics. Kyouya knew his old student was an exceptionally smart boy. Maybe not so much when it came to girls. Or girls that he liked. The sensei smirked, perhaps enjoying this display of typical high school angst a little too much. He allowed the light to reflect off of his glasses, hiding his amusement from an awe-struck Haruhi. He carefully judged her reaction, gauging it somewhere within the realm of shock and empathy, but there were no obvious hints that the feelings Tamaki confessed were in any way mutual. How interesting. Kyouya leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.

Suoh waited patiently for a response. Alarmed that the tension that hung heavily in the room was due to her lack of a comment, Haruhi blushed deeply. She never very much liked it when one of her classmates crushed on her, particularly the girls and an occasional boy. A few people thought she was unaware of their advancements. That was not the case; rather, she remained fixated on a certain man, someone _totally_ out of her league…

She made a point of keeping her eyes from straying to Ootori-sensei.

"Listen, Tamaki-senpai. That's, uh, really nice of you to say and all… but I think you might be mistaken."

The president of the Host Club blinked uncomprehendingly. His signature grin never faltered. "Er, what do you mean?"

Her face became a darker shade of red. How was she going to say this without mercilessly crushing him? Haruhi did, after all, respect Tamaki for the wonderful person that he was. The notion that she was actually going to reject the most sought after boy in Ouran sounded insane. She felt a degree of disgust aimed internally at herself. Tamaki was such a nice guy, and deserved a beautiful girlfriend. Could he not see that she just was not the right type for him? Why did he have to torture himself like this?

Clasping her hands firmly in her lap, Haruhi drew a deep breath. "I only like you as a friend, Senpai."

He stared at her, arms hanging lifelessly at his sides.

"I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression."

His violet eyes grew wide and glossy. _Oh, dear,_ she thought frantically, not knowing what to do. "I appreciate all the flattery, really!" She gave him her best smile, hoping to make amends. When his bottom lip began to pucker, a thin sheen of nervous sweat produced along her brow. This was _not_ how the morning was supposed to be going…

Luckily, at that moment Kyouya decided to intervene, relieving her of the stressful task of having to comfort the handsome, newly dejected host. "Live and learn, Suoh-san. You're going to be turned down many more times in your life, and I say that with the deepest levels of compassion." He stood up from the desk, smoothly slipping his hands into the front pockets of his pants. Haruhi stole the opportunity to sweep her eyes from his broad shoulders to narrow hips. He was of a slight, but lean and muscular build. His other female students agreed that Kyouya was a pleasant man to look at. Just seven years prior he had graduated from Ouran top of his class. That only put him about ten years older than Haruhi.

His expression softened somewhat at the sight of the lonely boy. He felt for him. Haruhi was incredible… ah, but Kyouya could not let his thoughts wander like that. She is his student and it would be inappropriate. His family name was too precious for him to throw caution to the wind and pursue her like an old pervert (which is how he felt when he began thinking this way). Unlike a vast majority of the academy, he was fully aware of her true gender. He did not let on that he knew any the wiser beyond the information she had given the school. In his spare time, Kyouya did his own research on this mysterious honors student. He preferred to think of it as an act on a curious impulse rather than 'snooping' around her private information. If the school officials found out that he was a professional hacker, well, he wouldn't have a job. That would never be a problem, though. Kyouya knew how to carefully cover his tracks.

So, yes. He decided to help poor Tamaki get over his grief. It was the least he could do. "Come," he said, making a head motion to one corner of the room. "Let's have a man-to-man talk. I'll give you a pass to your first period if you're late. Fujioka-san…" He turned to her slowly. She appeared visibly relieved and a little disappointed. They were, after all, just discussing her grade before Tamaki interrupted. "If you do not mind, _Mister_ Fujioka, you can come by after classes so we may continue our conference. I know that you specifically booked this time in correspondence to your schedule, however…"

"I'll come!" she said a bit too eagerly and then immediately corrected herself. "Um, I think this afternoon will be fine, Ootori-sensei."

Kyouya dismissed her in a professional manner, directing his attention to a distraught Tamaki. "I think he's still in shock."

~oOo~

_Two minutes_.

Haruhi hugged her textbooks tightly to her chest, ready to dash out the door as soon as the bell rang. Deep down inside, she knew that she was acting rather childishly, but this was not something she could control. It seemed almost fitting, actually, that she had fallen head over heels for her teacher. Her sessions of heavy studying were finally filled with something other than intense reading and note-taking. In a way, this crush was good for her. It proved she was a healthy, maturing girl. Still, she could not help but to scold herself. Some time down the line it was going to be made perfectly clear that Ootori-sensei was not interested in her, and thus would begin the heartache. Really, she was no better than Tamaki, also pursuing someone who will never return her love.

Though, earlier that same day, whilst they were in the middle of a lecture on the Meiji era, the Hitachiin twins decided they wanted all the details of how the confession went down that morning, and if Tamaki-senpai was taking rejection with good grace. Haruhi honestly could not say. She replied back to all of their notes with a consistent answer of 'I don't know', but they were still determined. When the sensei's back turned, Hikaru nudged his chair nearer to Haruhi's, and on her other side Kaoru was doing the same. Suddenly she found herself sandwiched between them. Hikaru gently ran his hand along the inside of her thigh, putting on his best puppy dog pout. Kaoru blew hot breath into her ear, watching in delight as she trembled at their closeness.

"Cut it out, you two," Haruhi whispered calmly, "You'll get us in trouble."

"Just tell us what we want to know. C'mon, he couldn't have cried _that_ hard," Hikaru muttered with barely concealed glee.

A loud throat clearing alerted the trio to the abruptly silent classroom, and that every pair of eyes was now trained precisely on them. With a growing sense of dread, Haruhi raised her eyes from her notes to discover a very stern Ootori-sensei glaring with such contempt she wanted to disappear through her chair. Haruhi, who had always been in his good favor, his star student, was about to be punished. She hung her head in shame, bracing herself for the inevitable.

"Hitachiin-san, Hitachiin-san, please return to your respective seating positions." Kyouya sounded a bit ticked, but otherwise could restrain from using a too harsh of a tone. "I understand the reason behind your methods in manipulating Public Display of Affection; however, Fujioka-san here has a crystal clear record. Do him a favor and make sure that it _stays _that way." There was something of an underlying threat weaved somewhere in his words, but no one else seemed to have heard it.

"Ah, Sensei! We were just having some harmless fun!" Hikaru grinned devilishly, obeying all the same. His brother copied him, but not without winking slyly at Kyouya. "I think Haruhi liked it, too!" She noticeably winced, shaking her head vigorously.

The sensei paused as if to consider the amount of truth behind their words. "Well, if that is the case, Fujioka-san has my sincere apologies, but if he continues to permit a corruption of the innocent in my classroom, two certain red-headed twins will find themselves in detention… with yours truly." Kyouya shot them a mischievous smirk that promised hell. He pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose with one dexterous finger. "Any questions? No? Let's carry on the lesson."

~oOo~

Hopefully this time around there would not be anymore interruptions. Haruhi decided a long time ago she coveted Ootori-sensei's attention all to herself. For some reason when he looked at her, she could practically pretend that she was the only girl he was seeing. These private, little student-teacher conferences were the closest she would ever get to an intimate setting with him. There was no harm in pretending, she thought. As long as her feelings never came to light, everything would be okay.

Her small knuckles rapped twice on the door before she cautiously turned the handle. She was greeted by the slow and serene sound of classical music. Curious, she merely poked her head in the room, searching for the familiar, tall physique of the raven-haired man. He was, to her pleasure, sitting at his desk, red pen in hand, brow creased in concentration as he read the content of that week's written report. "Come in," he gestured with one hand, not looking up. Haruhi complied, allowing a shy smile to cross her face as she recognized a small stereo that sat on the lonely windowsill opposite the door. Music drifted lazily from its speakers. She quickly chose a chair and sat down, her eyes fluttering closed to appreciate the perfection of this moment, and to steady the irregular beating of her fluttering heart. He finished with the essay, capping his red pen with a sigh.

The sensei could sense her nervousness as he focused on her face, so slender and feminine. Being dressed as a boy did little justice in hiding her sex. Coming from a family of doctors, it was difficult to remember not to address her as a girl. Moments like this, when he was alone with her, Kyouya regretted not following his father's advice and pursuing a career in medicine. Then he wouldn't have met Haruhi, and be so tempted, so drawn…

"Do you like this music?" he asked, tilting his head to one side, flashing her a swift smile before composing himself. He was not known among his pupils as a particularly _nice _teacher, not that he thought Haruhi would tell anyone. Besides the Hitachiin twins and the other members of the prestigious Host Club, he noted that she mostly kept to herself.

Haruhi opened her eyes, eyes so large, Kyouya was afraid if he stared into them for too long he'd fall into the depths of deep brown. "Hai. I remember my mother used to listen to it all the time. She even took dancing classes while she was pregnant with me."

Kyouya leaned forward on his elbows, extending one of his hands, his muscular arms visible due to that he'd rolled up the sleeves of his button down shirt. She silently admired him, though regarding his open palm warily.

Her uncertainty was breathtakingly cute. "What about you?" he asked with seemingly genuine interest. "Can you dance? I'm sure that Suoh-san did not hesitate in teaching you himself. Or was it one of those twins? They cannot keep their hands off of you." To his surprise, she stood up and strode over to him, placing her hand in his larger one. Only the desk separated them, but he wanted to shove the bothersome piece of furniture away to cut the distance between him and her. He enjoyed the feeling of having her slender hand in his. This was dangerous, Kyouya realized; yet, he had trouble bringing himself to care.

Haruhi nodded, and he could see that her own boldness shocked herself. "Mom passed on before I became old enough for her to teach me, but it comes with the job of being a host. On the contrary, Kanako-san taught me rather than Tamaki-senpai. It makes sense, since she is a girl."

"Is it now?" He smirked, daring to tighten his grip on her hand. "After all, I can only imagine that you had to learn the man's position. It would be very awkward otherwise. But what is to happen when you no longer need to disguise yourself from others? You would be the only woman leading her man around the dance floor, don't you think so?" The commoner gave no indication that she was surprised that he knew her secret. Possibly she had been waiting for him to say something. He was just too intelligent to let something like that fly over his head. Without loosening his hold on her, Kyouya navigated around his desk to stand directly beside her, and for the first time there was not some sort of solid barrier to keep them apart. He carefully placed his right hand just below her shoulder blades and expertly guided her into a starting position. The CD in his stereo continued to play on, and he silently cursed himself for thinking that the music would be a soothing method to keep him from leaping on top of the fragile girl and kissing her senseless. He could feel her left hand resting on his shoulder. Haruhi's soft breath tickled his collarbone. He could feel blood rush to his cheeks. And another area. He hoped she wouldn't notice.

"About your report…" he said coolly, taking the first few steps, enjoying the sensations her closeness. "I'm a bit disappointed. You're supposed to be top in the class. What do you have to say for yourself?" He noted her skill dancing with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. She seemed to have no qualms about letting him lead. Unfitting was her disguise, because no boy could look as feminine she did then as he carefully turned her in their dance. Embarrassingly enough, Kyouya realized it was _he_ who was being rigid in his motions, so much as that she looked up at him and smiled too innocently. He decided he liked it, forgetting to maintain an impassive expression and allowed himself to return one in kind.

"I might have been a bit distracted," Haruhi admitted, allowing him to turn and pull her towards him. She took everything in stride.. He moved left. Then the right. Back again. His arms found their way around her waist. Kyouya could not explain his feelings for this student. Perhaps the whole reason such a relationship between a teacher and his student was forbidden made the situation all the more savory.

"Do elaborate." The music faded out, bring him back to reality and he quickly took his hands from her. The next song was set to play in a few seconds. Did he dare to press his luck with another dance? Kyouya adjusted his glasses clumsily, no longer as composed as he once was. Haruhi, to his astonishment, rearranged her hold on him, pulling him coaxingly so that she was leading _him_. He half-smiled at her nerve. Oh, if only his father could see him now.

"To be perfectly honest, I'm not thinking about all of those dates and names that spill from your mouth whenever you talk, Sensei. Maybe you should consider a different occupation. How did you ever suspect _not_ to be a distraction? I think that you do it purposefully sometimes."

She moved them out of sight from any of the windows. Closer to the door. Kyouya felt the urge to lock it. "Why didn't you accept Suoh's offer this morning? Did you believe that it would make me jealous?"

"Wouldn't it?" Haruhi asked innocently. He wanted to shake her of that damn talent.

"Very much." He tapped her chin to lift her wide eyes to his grey ones. He instantly felt himself falling deeper into the chocolate depths and the rosy blush on her cheeks did not contribute well to his self control. A new song began to play, faster in tempo. He took advantage of her pause and began leading again. She followed without question. Skillfully twirling her about and pulling her back, he kept a constant motion of touching: her shoulder, her hand, her back or her waist. In turn, there were the softest caresses on his arms and shoulders. He knew she was doing it to him on purpose. It was becoming increasingly clear that Kyouya was losing this fight with his better judgment. His hands were no longer cautious and carefully placed upon her body, but continuously wandering, boldly crossing over areas a teacher should never feel on his student. He gave up on the music altogether. She entangled her hands in his raven black hair. She said his name, "Kyouya," as if he were not her superior, as if she were on the same level as _him_. And he did not mind it in the least. It sounded intimate, coming from her mouth. He wouldn't hold back anymore. Leaning down, he captured her lips with his, hesitantly at first, but as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, he parted her lips, ravishing her mouth, tasting her for the first time, and she was like warm sunshine on his tongue. Haruhi responded eagerly. He could not help but think she had been plotting this against him the entire time, before she ever set foot in the room.

He knew that this was beyond any set boundaries that were previously established. Honestly, who gives a damn? He could not stop, would not stop himself from tasting her. He made sure that they were out of sight from any of the windows, hurriedly pressing her against the wall. Her hands pawed at his shirt, slyly found their way beneath and trailed over his abdomen. "Haruhi," he whispered, helping her to pull off his shirt, causing his glasses to come askew. He wrenched them off and threw them carelessly on top of the growing pile of clothes. His shirt, his belt, her tie and jacket… His lips eagerly returned to hers after each article of clothing was removed. She was flush against his body, her hips brushing roughly against his own. He wanted her. Kyouya was kissing her roughly on the lips before slowly allowing his tongue to trail down her jaw line and neck to her shoulders, now bare to his hot gaze. He found her tank top rather endearing, slipping his fingers under either strap and pulled down. This allowed him to continue a torturous path from the collarbone to the newly exposed chest. He smirked into her breast, relishing the sound of her heavy panting and licked around the nipple, but denied her a direct touch. Her small hands latched onto his hips, rubbing her lower body into his in a way that was not easing the situation in his pants.

"God, Haruhi, I think I love…" A beautiful blushed crept up in her cheeks as he said this.

He knew he wanted her, but was this love? It was such a strong, powerful word. Something about it made the declaration definite; final. He might not know exactly how much of a connection he felt towards Haruhi, but for certain he was never going to share her with anyone else. Not Suoh. Not the Hitachiins. _No one_.

Slowly, Kyouya took her small chin in one hand. Haruhi stood on her toes to press a kiss to his lips. He felt a fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach. He kissed her again. She smiled back.

Kyouya sighed. "We should probably dress, Fujioka-san. My wife is due to walk in at any moment."

**~oOo~**

**A/N: This is a one-shot. Due to some previous feedback in my other Ouran story, I might continue this later on. For now, it will be listed under 'Completed' until inspiration strikes me again. **


End file.
